by Amy Lane
She might not have known a queer, but she sure did know a friend.
“I’m falling in love with the kid who hated me when I first became the manny,” he told her.
“I know who Brandon is.”
He grinned and touched her nose. “Of course you do. He’s the insane one drilling holes in your house right now.”
“Yup, and doing a damned fine job of it.” Her smile was tired but sound. She knew what was going on. If nothing else, Jacob would have told her about Taylor jumping to Brandon’s honor the other night.
“He’s scary competent,” Taylor admitted.
“And he picked you,” she said, her smile no less gentle. “Why do you suppose?”
Taylor tapped his eye patch. “Makes me look like Kurt Russell in Escape from New York.”
“Yeah, Taylor. That’s why he decided to fall in love with you. The eye patch.”
Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “Well, if it’s not that, I got nothin’, Nica. I’ve got no idea why he’d want to risk his whole life ahead of him for me.”
She kissed his forehead. “I know you don’t. Would you just believe me that whatever it is, I saw it back in high school, but it’s bigger now?”
Taylor’s evil chuckle made her smile. “I hope so.”
“Stop it—I didn’t see that in high school.”
“Nope, but not for lack of dreaming, you shameless hussy.”
They laughed together, and then she sobered. “Conroy’s going to wake up in ten minutes, so I need you to listen to me.”
“All ears, Nica.” His friend—his best friend in all the world.
“I loved you back then because in spite of the whole double-life thing, you were a better person at seventeen than the whole rest of your family. Remember, I knew. I didn’t tell my family, but I knew. And you could have been horrible. You know that happens—the kid who gets hit grows up to keep hitting. But you grew up to protect everyone else. You grew up to be funny and to want to go to college. And when you told me—who you were, what you’d been doing—you told me thinking I could never forgive you, but you told me anyway. And when I did forgive you, I realized that, so what. You weren’t perfect. But you were always my friend.”
He swallowed. He knew this, but God, hearing your friend say she loved you in spite of your shortcomings—sometimes it could be the most powerful thing in the world.
“Always,” he said huskily.
“And in the hospital,” she said, her voice breaking, “you were so happy to see me. You could have… you could have been bitter or angry. But you just lit up. You lit up when you saw Melly. You lit up when I brought Conroy. And I realized how much I’d meant to you. All through high school, through college, through your deployment. I used to write you letters thinking, ‘Oh God, he probably thinks I’m still the same goofy kid who thought I was in love with him,’ but when I saw you in the hospital, I knew that wasn’t true. You were happy to see your friend. And I realized what a fine human being you were, and how lucky I was….”
He grabbed one of the paper napkins he’d brought up with lunch and wiped under her eyes.
“I was so lucky God brought you back to me, Taylor Cochran. I took it for granted you were coming back—I learned never to take anything for granted again. This baby? Before I saw you in the hospital, I might have assumed, you know? That I would carry this pregnancy through because I just wanted it, and that’s how it was going to be. But now I know. The people we care most about, the things we assume will just be there—they can get taken away from us.”
“I’m here,” he told her, to calm her down.
“I’m so glad,” she whispered. “Don’t take yourself for granted. Be grateful Brandon knows what a good man you are. Believe he knows you for how I know you, okay?”
He couldn’t talk—and he couldn’t refute her. He could only nod.
“Say it,” she told him. “Say you believe it. That you’re a good man and you deserve what this boy has to offer.”
“I believe I’m blessed,” he said after he could speak again. “By your friendship. By your family. And I’ll count him in my blessings. How’s that?”
She grinned, tears not slowing down. “You’re a good man, Taylor. And you’re not even a little bit stupid.”
He could grin back. “That’s high praise indeed.”
He had to get up shortly after that and get back on the family hamster wheel, but he replayed that conversation a thousand times in his head.
That night, after dinner—and Jacob shooing him off so he could teach Dustin how to load the dishwasher—he told Brandon he was taking a walk around the neighborhood before going upstairs.
“I’ll come with you.”
His chest warmed as he thought of the solitary ventures he’d made outside his apartment, trying to get in some cardio, trying to be comfortable in his own skin again. He’d learned to like walking, the way it cleared his head, the way it gave his body something to do without hurting too much.
For a few minutes they trotted side by side, until Brandon broke the silence. “You go really fast. Next time I’m taking off my work boots and putting on my tennis shoes.”
“I like walking,” Taylor said in defense. “Keeps you fit, doesn’t pulverize your body the way running does.”
Brandon caught his hand as it was swinging backward and twined their fingers. “You can do this.”
Taylor tugged gently. “I can’t—I need to let my arms swing so they both get the use and the stretch. Sorry.”
“No, not at all.” Taylor felt his sly look, the wheedling pull for the compliment. “You wanted to hold my hand, right?”
“Course.”
“Good.”
Taylor had to laugh. So much arrogance—but he used his powers of assumption for good, so it was okay.
“What?” Brandon said after a few more quiet footfalls. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking….” Taylor looked up at the sky, still light although it was past eight. Jacob, after a day at work, had come home, played with the kids while Taylor made dinner, and called the housekeeper so Taylor didn’t have to go shopping again. Then he’d sat at dinner and talked to his children some more, was now teaching Dustin to do the dishes, and would probably fall asleep in front of a Disney movie before going upstairs to talk to his wife.
Just the thought of Jacob’s day exhausted him, but he didn’t think Jacob would want to do anything else with his life.
“I’m thinking that the best thing for you isn’t always the easiest,” he said after a few moments. “And that it’s not easy for me to trust.”
“You know, I think I figured that out.” Dry as dust.
“You only think you’re cute.” Sometimes Taylor thought he missed his left eye most when he was trying on an expression of disgust.
“So do you,” Brandon shot back smugly. “Think I’m cute. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing.” But he felt the corners of his mouth pulling up, because, oh God, he really was. “Except….” Could he say it?
“Except what?” They’d reached the end of a block and stood underneath a mulberry tree, the sweet green of the leaves against the darkening sky as pretty a picture as Taylor had ever wanted to paint.
“Except I’m going to have faith,” he said at last. “That you’re not bullshit. That this can work. ’Cause… I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m tired. I’m worried for Nica. I think the life you and me have planned—being working students, living together—it’s not going to be easy. But… I mean, I’m pretty sure I can do it. And I know you can do it. So I’m going to believe it when you say we can do it together.”
Brandon drew even with him and kissed him softly in the quiet summer evening. Taylor closed his eye and trusted.
They pulled back, and Brandon said, “Tay, open your eye.”
He did, and Brandon’s face, broad and earnest, happy and dear, filled his vision, his green eyes the exact color of a peaceful sea. “Yeah?”
; “You heard me this morning.”
“Yeah.”
“I meant it.”
“I know. I mean it back.”
The smile widened until his dimples popped. “You ever going to say it?”
Taylor scowled, not ready to be that naked. Not today, not here. “Maybe.” He pulled away to resume the walk.
Brandon’s low chuckle followed him, as did Brandon himself. “Now you’re just playing hard to get!”
“How can I be hard to get when you’ve got me?” Taylor took another couple of steps and then stopped. “You’ve really got me. You need to know that.”
And the play drained out of Brandon’s body. He didn’t reach for Taylor’s hand again, but he did place a work-roughened, square-palmed hand in the small of his back.
“I do now.”
A walk together—it was all Taylor wanted.
And lovemaking afterward. He wanted that too.
BY Friday night the kids were used to his pancakes, Nica was still on bed rest, and the room addition had another three days of drywall before it could be painted and carpeted. Brandon was pleased, though. He told Taylor that he and his team had done a good job—work they could be proud of—and that Jacob’s house had just doubled in value.
Taylor didn’t know a damned thing about construction or housing, but he did know Brandon. He took him at his word.
Brandon’s duffel sat ready at the door, and Brandon was arguing with his brother on the phone. “No. I said no. Cliff, I said no, I’m not staying another week. If you can’t bring me back down, I’ll drive up myself. No, I don’t care if it’s a stupid waste of gas. I have a life, do you understand that? I work as many jobs as I can during the summer so I can afford part-time in the winter, and since nobody there has offered to pay for my schooling, I need to get back. No, I don’t want your money—not now. I’ve got a boyfriend here—do you not get it? Yes, that guy—remember, the one who saved Dad’s life?”
Brandon’s sudden scowl and growl made Taylor wince. Obviously he just got an earful about why Taylor Cochran was not good enough for Brandon Grayson.
“You take that back or I’m not going. I don’t care if you’re a mile away. You take it back or I’m not getting into the car with you. You heard me.”
Brandon waited, tapping his foot, shaking his head, until the reply on the other end of the phone appeased him somewhat.
“Now listen to me. I am coming back next Friday. Tell me right now if you can get me back or not.” He grunted and looked over at Taylor. “Saturday morning,” he mouthed.
Taylor grimaced, but he’d been deployed for years at a time. He knew how to wait for a boyfriend and be faithful. “If I haven’t heard from you by one in the afternoon, I’m coming up to get you.”
Something like relief relaxed Brandon’s shoulders. “You’d better.” Then all his attention was back on Cliff. “Yeah, that’s the street. We’re the only house on the block with a raw wood second-story house addition, Clifford—not even you can miss it. I’ll be out in five—no. Don’t come up. Because you embarrass me. Seriously. I’m embarrassed. Yeah, the snazzy car is part of the embarrassment. Now give me five. So I can kiss my boyfriend goodbye—did you want to see?”
He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket, shaking his head. “I’m serious, Taylor, if you don’t see me, it’s because I’m tied up in the basement. I don’t want to spend another minute with those assholes.”
Taylor thought of his family—his father, rude and violent, his mother, drunk and sad. Thought of his brothers, who were probably just like their dad.
“I totally believe you,” he said mildly. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”
Brandon came into his arms and hugged hard, sighing in his ear. “Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Taylor buried his face in Brandon’s neck, saw only darkness, and took a leap of faith. “Love you too.”
His reward was the low rumble of laughter from Brandon’s chest. “So, did a black hole open up and swallow the sun?”
Taylor backed up enough to glare. “No.”
“Then would it kill you to say it sometime when I’m not leaving for a week?”
“Possibly. Go away. I’m going to remember what it’s like to sleep on the edge of the bed.”
“Lumpy. The best part of the bed is in the middle with me, when you can’t roll off and bonk your head and die in a coma of blood. Everybody knows that.”
Taylor covered his face with his hands. “No, Brandon, only you.”
“Yeah. That wasn’t romantic at all, was it?” His voice fell, and for a rare moment, he sounded young.
“No.” Taylor cupped Brandon’s cheeks with his palms. “But it sounded very uniquely you.”
Brandon’s irrepressible smile popped right back out. “Say it again,” he ordered.
“I love you.”
“Love you back.”
One more kiss and he was gone.
Taylor closed the door behind him, wandered to the couch, and almost sat down. He needed to work out today, and he needed to stretch and then shower and then fall fast and hard asleep. Even though he officially had the weekend off, he was still going downstairs sometime the next morning to help herd children, because Jacob was exhausted and Nica was prickly and all the kids were a massive handful.
And they were family, and family helped. At this point, even when he got his loan and started school and turned the job of nanny over to someone else, he couldn’t imagine not coming by to help when he could. Conroy depended on him to find the woobie, and who was going to deflect Belinda’s clever mind when it saw way too much? Melly could never keep that one shoe, and Dustin was going to learn sex ed from a puberty video and his father? God no.
So he was officially sucked in. Just like when he was a kid and dreamed of being part of the Robbins clan—he was their manny, their Uncle Taylor, Brandon’s boyfriend, Nica’s bestie, all in the same guy, in their lives.
He had a purpose in the morning.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss the hell out of Brandon right now.
He stood by the couch for a moment and let the ache wash over him.
Of course he was strong enough to wait a week. He was strong enough to wait a year or three or five. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
He could have faith in Brandon—that was no problem. But faith didn’t keep you warm at night, and even if the thermometer said 103 for the whole next week, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be chilly in Brandon’s little garage apartment.
Carefree Highway
BRANDON glared at the long shadows of the trees and tried to guess what time it was. Four? Five? He’d left the house at three, fed up and pissed off, and with a dying phone.
Oh, he’d known this was coming.
So had Taylor, for that matter. During their last phone conversation—and the bad coverage had made them damned rare—Taylor had asked if Brandon wanted him to drive the truck up after Jacob got home on Friday.
Brandon should have said yes.
His folks had seemed okay when Brandon arrived Friday night. His mom had his old room ready—airplane wallpaper, single wood-frame bed and all. He ate cold chicken as a snack, talking to his mom about his dad’s routine since Dad was asleep for the night, and for a brief, shining moment, Brandon thought they could be civilized and, well, family about this.
But he still set his duffel down on the dresser instead of unpacking. He just didn’t want to stay that long.
The next day had been exhausting. His father needed help with pretty much everything—Brandon could see why Garrett and Cliff hadn’t wanted in on the daily care. Brandon’s bulk and muscle were useful helping Dad sit up to eat, helping him stand up and walk to the bathroom, helping him wander the house. He was supposed to walk a little loop—recliner to kitchen table, kitchen table to garage, garage around the house to front door, front door around the house to garage again.
By the time Brandon w
as supposed to leave on Friday, his dad should have been strong enough to walk to any of those places on his own, and to continue to walk. In two weeks, he should have been able to walk to the end of the driveway for mail. In three weeks, around the block.
But Mitch Grayson had no such aspirations.
“What do you mean, get up? I’m a heart attack victim!”
Brandon scowled at him that first day. “Dad, I can read the instructions just like you. Mom spent hours with your PTs putting this together. Did you think you would just get home and vegetate and suddenly you’d feel better? Your heart’s a muscle, and it needs to be stretched!”
“What would you know about it? You’re going to be an engineer, remember?”
And how he desperately regretted telling Garland that, because his boss was the only place his parents could have gotten the information. “I have two years of kinesiology under my belt, Dad. And even if I didn’t, I’ve been watching Taylor stretching out for weeks—”
“What would he know about it?”
“A quarter of his body is skin and muscle grafts. He got blown up, Dad. And he can walk right now and wrangle kids and move with barely a limp because he listened to his doctors and because he stretches and uses his weights every day. Now come on! Are you going to tell me you can’t even try?”
“Are you trying to compare me to your gay boyfriend to make me work harder?”
Brandon stared despairingly at his father. They had the same broad cheekbones, the same square chin. But Mitch’s lips had gotten thin and pursed in the past two years. His arms and legs were skinny, but his chest and gut had gotten bigger. No physical activity. None. No muscle tone. All the indomitable mass of his body had been allowed to run to fat.
“I’m comparing you to a man I admire to tell you what he did to recover,” Brandon answered reasonably. “Please, Dad. We’ve been given a second chance to be a family—”
